


Where I can't be seen

by MoonlightInTheWell



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Instability, Self-Hatred, Sexual Frustration, sleeping sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightInTheWell/pseuds/MoonlightInTheWell
Summary: [World of Ruin | Missing Moment] When you're broken in any way you thought impossible and more, even love gets deeply distorted. And from this darkness there might not be redemption.A strong and desperate non-bonding moment between Prompto and Gladio.





	Where I can't be seen

The first time they meet again, Gladio's wearing a long jacket. He’s carrying a small sack on his shoulder. No expression.

 

They chew on expired cup noodles and nail each other in the scant space inside the tent. Prompto pretends to sleep when he hears him leave, before the scratches on his sides scab over. 

 

The second time, they meet by chance in the open field. The hunt was massive; it went on for hours. Three hunters died. Gladio wasn't the fourth just because Prompto still had a phoenix down in the armiger. His last.

 

Back in Lestallum they shove food down their throat, choking and coughing over the plates. As if food could be denser than their hatred. 

 

The third time, Gladio emerges from the shadows. He shows Prompto a dust-covered bottle. It's oil. Pure gold in this sunless age. It's been more than four years. Nowadays, they're lucky if they even have water for cooking. 

 

"Where?" 

 

"Stole it from an abandoned cottage. Near Ravatogh." Gladio admits this with a proud smirk. It doesn't touch his eyes. 

 

Prompto bites his lower lip. "So it's true. You went crazy, huh.” 

 

“Says who?”

"Everyone. Iggy told me not to go near you.”

 

"Tch.” Gladio crosses his arms over his barrel-sized chest. “You’re not gonna listen to that.”

 

"Well, I can't give you up. Neither can he.” Prompto avoids Gladio’s gaze as he offers him this pearl of truth. Something they both already know. “...You must have been really shitty to him, though. To make him mad like that.”

 

"You’re still here, aren’t you?” 

 

No shit. Prompto sucks his lips between his teeth. “Yeah. I’m an idiot.”  

 

Gladio laughs and lays the bottle on the rocks near the fire. "Close your eyes, Prom.”

He wants to play. 

 

Prompto doesn't. He stretches, takes the oil, smells the potent liquor (which feels like sun squeezed in a glass). He licks the nectar under the cap. Practically swoons. It's delicious--enough that he would keep it just to take small licks now and then. Whenever he can't remember how the sun feels. 

 

Gladio keeps another bottle for himself. This one is thinner and longer. He’s holding a jagged knife in one hand. He hits the cap with the blade, flipping the cap all the way onto the grass.

 

His Gladio always knows where he is. It's a mystery. Sure, Prompto leaves note, but he's never so predictable when he hunts by himself. When his sleepless, sore, glazed eyes watch the darkness all around him.

 

Gladio takes a big gulp. It falls wide and strong through his windpipe. Prompto starts cooking. He covers their small fire with a pan and pours in some oil. When Gladio isn’t looking, he tastes it again with a greedy lick around the opening. 

 

"Let's see if this stuff was worth your life. I've got some meat.”

 

"Just use all the oil.” 

 

"Seriously?" 

 

"Look, dumbass." Gladio bends over him. Shoves the bottle under his nose. “This is good shit and I've got two more in my pack. Kept it cold with my magic. So you just drink and cook. Something delicious, got it? Before I change my mind.” 

“What about you? Where are you going?" 

 

"Gonna take a bath in the river.”

 

"...Fine. Asshole.” 

 

Gladio shrugs. "You know I’m not gonna lick your ass the way you like if you talk back.”

"Who said I’d let you fuck me?”

 

Grinning on one side of his face, Gladio starts taking off his clothes. Eventually the only thing he’s wearing is Prompto's stare like lava on his hard-rock body. His skin doesn't melt, but every step away from the fire, into the darkness, somehow makes him look brighter. Hot and golden like liquid iron. 

 

Prompto can't take his eyes off Gladio. He’s indulging himself, his selfish pride and blind lust. 

 

That night, they eat fried chips and fried meat in silence. Drink the wine, sucking the bottles to the last drop. Gladio wears nothing but his jacket. He's the first to retire into the tent. Once upon a time, he loved the open air. The sky over his head. Once, he was almost a romantic. Prompto loved that hidden side of him. He loved stirring it up and opening his legs under his kisses. 

 

Now all Prompto can imagine about them is teeth. Vitriol. And Gladio's cock in his not-so-tight-anymore hole. Will Gladio notice how Prompto’s changed? Will he despise him for it? How much? Prompto moans under his breath, puffing hot hair through his frozen lips.

 

It's pitch black in the tent. Gladio is a big snoring shadow in a corner. Prompto covers both of them under a heavy blanket and curls up next to him. He feels a oneness with Gladio right now, but maybe that’s just the alcohol. He's choked by the morbid sickness of this stolen pleasure. He’s all wrong. He can't recognize himself, or Gladio. He’s lost in a thick fog, legs deep in a bog with no lighthouse to bring him home. 

 

His cock is half hard against Gladio's naked leg. The big guy's fresh and damp; he stinks of chocobo pen and behemoth shit. He slept in the dirt, that’s for sure, but who knows how long. He's exhausted, barely more than a ghost. Haunted by all his past victories. Prompto is hungry again, but this time it’s worse. He wants to scrub Gladio’s smell against his tongue. Cover it with his blood, drink it with his kisses. 

 

He'd suck everything from Gladio's skin. 

 

As long as Noctis is away, Prompto can be the crazy hungry slut he's always been deep inside. The desperate whore he knows he is. He tries to keep that knowledge hidden in the same place he knows he's a lab rat like millions. Just a highly functional piece of meat that can't be saved. 

 

The wine was so good. Blood-dense and delicious. Gladio drank most of it, the bastard. Then he went to sleep, leaving Prompto alone. Pining, half hard in his pants. 

 

Prompto slips an arm under Gladio’s biceps, searching for his cock. Ah, there, the limp beast. Feels nice and clean. So Gladio didn't expect to cuddle or kiss. He only washed himself thoroughly where it counts.

 

Wrapping fingers around this hunk of manhood, his old friend, Prompto waits for the warmth to settle in his palm through the contact. His pulse beats against his tendons. If he was skilled like Ignis, he could use some magic to make it faster. But this is all he’s good for and it suits him perfectly. He tightens his hold from time to time, delicate squeezes that won't wake him. Prompto can't trust the wine too much. Gladio's always a light sleeper. 

 

A firm touch will do the trick. It's not the way Gladio usually gets excited, of course. He was always hardcore when it came to sex, even before Noctis went away. His cock was always ready, like it didn't know how to wait. Cumming inside of Prompto without end. Gladio loved fucking. Many times a day, if there was time and opportunity. Prompto loved getting fucked. Dreamed of being the one to fuck Gladio, someday, to the point of make him beg. 

 

Never going to happen now.

 

There was a time Prompto hatched romantic dreams about their future. When he didn't know the truth about his origins, that the love he felt was just a connection with someone who shared a similar fate. They’re both just tools born to be used. Maybe that’s what pisses Gladio off. They’re too similar. Not like Ignis. Ignis isn't the Shield. Isn't the friend chosen by Noctis himself. There’s a comfortable distance between Gladio and Ignis. 

 

Prompto has always known, below his more or less delusional daydreams, that he’s all facade. His looks are all he has. His silly unconditional love is all he can offer. 

 

Gladio? He has his pride, his mission. But all his strength and his devotion mean nothing if he can't save Noctis, if he's not even able to die at his side. There’s no place for him in a world without Noct. In Altissia, even Ravus helped Noctis much more than Gladio.

 

That's okay. Prompto will find the guts to tell him that it's okay. They could feel like shit together at least. Gladio hasn't yet forgiven him for lying, but that's okay too. He just needs time. Prompto can sense it. Like his cock, hardening with small jumps in a gentle grip, getting bigger and forcing his hand to widen little by little. Prompto’s thumb straightens to play with the tender skin that covers the tip, rolling it in languid circles underneath Prompto’s gun-calloused fingers. He doesn’t want to tickle him. It would bring Gladio back to the squalor of this tent, to Prompto. No, Prompto just wants power over his body. He knows Gladio would never forgive him for handling him in his sleep; they'd only fuck if Prompto were more submissive. 

 

But that's okay. They’ll go on wrecking each other. No one will notice in this darkness. And when Noctis comes back there will be no time for personal shit. They’ll stand by his side, stronger than ever, until the end. The darkness consumes, hides, and clears everything. The Prophecy, in the old tombs, foretells three retainers. So they will be there. 

 

"Can't die, Gladdy.”

 

He lulls with the faintest whisper between Gladio's shoulder blades, kissing the spot where his spine crosses the diaphragm. A place where his strength can't control the tension. Prompto’s hard as the rock they're sleeping on, but Gladio’s cock isn't there yet. And it won't be. Prompto lets him go with a daemonic smile. He's sure he's grinning like the Mahanaga was when it turned them all into stone that time.

 

He slides his hand in his pants, taking care of his own stone. He’s hard and hurting, already on the edge. He pinches and scratches until the pain eases his guilt. He cups his balls for a nice squeeze. Almost there. Rolling onto his back without the blanket. Slow and silent and now with both hands. One to minimize the mess, the other to serve. 

 

He whimpers in the darkness. Licks his lips and shuts them tight.

 

Gladio really smells of behemoth shit. 

 

That's hot. 

 

Shit, he's coming like this because of the stench. He can't stop it as it flows out of him, sticky and gross all over his hand. His hips tremble a little, just small spasms. Gladio keeps on snoring loudly and moves onto his belly. Prompto breathes at the rate of his dumb satisfaction, deeply, until he can coordinate his arm in an outward stretch. Grabbing a towel. He cleans himself and his clothes. Now the air smells of sex, too. 

 

He rolls onto his side again and embraces Gladio.

 

This isn't love, is it? 

 

Love is what normal people make. 

 

Love is what Gladio would have if he wasn't involved with him (an MT--an Empty). 

 

Love is what Noctis gifted him, the Empty. What the Empty feels for Noctis. Absolutely in love. For Noctis, the Empty becomes Prompto. An endless loop of pain and joy, absolutely pure. That love is the dream of a broken machine lifting its eyes to the sky for the first time without any helmet or lens. Before turning off forever.

 

Sorry Gladio, it can't be for you. We're just tools, remember?

Actually, Gladio is much more broken than him. 

 

He hates him, and he yet gave him food, offered his body. This is only the first time they’re seeing each after the three of them split. Gladio tried his best.

 

Prompto would not have said no if Gladio forced him. Nor would he have blamed him after the fuck. But, that didn't happen. Gladio just went to sleep. 

 

They wasted oil for sixth months in one dinner. Just like they wasted their hearts. 

 

Prompto regrets nothing. Nothing will change anyway.

 

He wants to get laid first thing when Gladio wakes up. Or better yet, he’ll suck his cock until its hard enough to wake Gladio up. Heat rushing from Prompto’s stomach all the way to his groin. Savage. Brutal.  _ Good _ .

 

Tools. They’re just tools. Stuck in each other’s veins like syringes full of poison. 

 

Gladio's smell is intoxicating. Prompto licks it off his shoulder, right where the inky black eagle bends its head, shredding his heart.

 

He savors the taste under his lips. Thirsty. So thirsty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry. Sooner or later I had to write this.  
> I leave chocolate, coffee and good things to console you, dear reader. I hope you liked it.  
> (I loved it, don't esclude I'll write more because I love them so much (...)).
> 
> I will be forever thanful to the amazin Jeejascoffee for editing this piece, giving me so much love and bringint it to new life! Thanks again, friend <3


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